


A Lesson In Respect

by BrokenBlade



Series: Gul Du-yummy-kat [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Blow Jobs, Damar is Icing on the Sexy Dukat Cake, Dukat Dominance, F/M, Gul Du-yummy-kat ~ Glinn Da-licious-mar, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Dukat~Damar is Very Subtle, Threesome - F/M/M, Virgin Enthusiasm, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29489148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenBlade/pseuds/BrokenBlade
Summary: The Prefect of Bajorcomesto young Gita for backroom service……and brings a guest.Onemightask where the hell this girl's shopkeeper father is this time, but I'd have to confess that I'm not quite sure. Maybe Dukat sent him on some fool's errand across the station? I mean, I honestly hope he did.¯\_(ツ)_/¯Yeah, I think that's what he did. Dukat has decent enough manners, even if he's an asshole. (a sexy asshole) (who deserves to be paid unending, ahem,tribute)
Relationships: Damar/Dukat (Star Trek), Dukat (Star Trek) & Original Female Character(s), Dukat (Star Trek)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Gul Du-yummy-kat [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038210
Comments: 25
Kudos: 6





	A Lesson In Respect

**Author's Note:**

> * Inspired by Damar's remark to Major Kira in _Sons and Daughters_.
> 
> DAMAR: You're out of uniform, Major. _Bajorans could use a lesson in respect._
> 
> DUKAT: Damar, please. This is a happy occasion. Let's not spoil it. _no, let's just have a little fun with you..._
> 
> ** Or, just inspired by...dammit, Damar's _beautiful_ , isn't he?
> 
> *** Or the deepest truth: I needed a [Porn Break™] in the midst of writing a long angsty story that's draining my life force. 
> 
> **** A [ _Dukat_ Porn Break™] - I am in love with this man.  
>    
>    
>    
> Oh, and...okay, if the reader isn't up to speed with this _epic_ (eye roll) series, I'll just throw some context here again for good measure:
> 
> Setting:  
> Terok Nor, under the command of Gul Dukat. A Bajoran's shop.
> 
> Characters:  
> 1\. Gul Du-yummy-kat, Prefect of Bajor - as seen in the episode 'Necessary Evil.'  
> 2\. Gita, an impressionable teenage girl who works in her Bajoran father's shop. Let's say she's...oh, seventeen?
> 
> Motivation:  
> 1\. Dukat's Dick.  
> ❤💋❤💋❤💋❤💋

  
  
  
  
“Ah, Damar… impeccable timing, as always.”  
  
“I thought we were alone!” Gita's startled, unable to hide her unbidden tears from the Prefect. He’s seated on the utility stool and she kneels between his legs, absently stroking his treasure as though forgetting she holds it. It’s wet because she was peacefully bathing him only moments ago, before his unexpected greeting alerted her to the second Cardassian’s presence in the backroom.   
  
“Oh but we _are_ , sweetheart – Damar is my right-hand man, practically an extension of myself. I find it useful to share everything of value with him.”   
  
“Come, stand beside me so she can reach you,” he addresses Damar, patting the outside of his thigh.   
  
Gita peers up at the unfamiliar man’s scornful sneer and trembles against the Prefect’s opposite leg. “You mean…you want me to…?”   
  
“As I said, dear, he’s an extension of myself. I most certainly _‘want you to’_. You’ll please _me_ by pleasing him.”  
  
“But I think he hates me.”  
  
“Think again, sweetheart. Feel.” He lifts her hand off his treasure, kisses her fingertips, then presses them to Damar’s bulge.   
  
“Sir!” Damar gasps.   
  
“See, he’s more than eager, dear. Open your pants, Damar. Show the young lady proper respect. She’s earned it more than any Bajoran you’ll ever meet.”  
  
“Oh!” Gita gapes at his stalk. It’s _thick_ – surely it holds more juice than the Prefect’s – it looks like it may _burst_. “He’s swollen! Does it hurt?”  
  
“ _No_ , you stup– ”  
  
“Quiet, Damar!” the Prefect snaps.   
  
Then gently, “Yes Gita, he suffers. The discomfort makes him cross, as you’ve noticed, but I’m confident that _you_ can relieve him. Lick him, sweetheart, so he’ll understand how your softness will soothe him. Damar, hold yourself for her.”  
  
Gita watches the man’s face through wet eyelashes while blanketing him with saliva the way the Prefect likes. His scowl relaxes as he sighs through parted lips. The bottom one is plump, like it’s filled with moba jam. She imagines delicately kneading it as she draws his similarly padded tip into her mouth’s wet heat.  
  
_“Ahhhhh! ohhhhh, sir…“_ his groaning excites her as much as his size. She’s dizzy, anticipating how aggressively his glory will stretch her lips, how unbendingly his expanse will squeeze between her tongue and the roof of her mouth when he overtakes her completely. The hard floor has never felt so _right_ under her knees. She unconsciously grips the Prefect’s thigh, seized by a powerful urge to arch her back and raise her hips for him – she aches from his _absence_ though he’s at her side – she wishes he’d push himself against her from _behind_ , but she doesn’t know why.  
  
“Didn’t I tell you, Damar?”  
  
“Oh yessss sir, _uhhhhhh…”_  
  
“Gita, he needs you _now_ , are you ready?”  
  
She moans her readiness but it seems the Prefect misunderstands her intent as he grasps her hair encouragingly. “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart – I realize he’s exceedingly large but he’ll _ease_ into you like a gentleman – won’t you, Damar. Go ahead now – that’s it – slowly – _yesssss_ – that’s my man – good, _gooooddd_ – ”  
  
Damar heeds the advice but there’s literally no getting around the unyielding fullness of his grandeur once it consumes all the space she opens for him, including _more_ that she spontaneously widens deep in her throat. It’s uncomfortable and almost hurts, but she focuses on the controlling kindness of the Prefect’s hand as he guides her head, helping her give his man the relief he so audibly requires.  
  
“No need to crush my hand, Damar, there’s room on her head for _both_ of ours.” _Ohhhhh_ , she closes her eyes and sucks even more passionately, losing herself to the intoxicating thrill of one man’s touch blossoming into two.  
  
The Prefect’s other hand begins agitating vigorously at her side, like he’s scrubbing a fruit back and forth across her ribs. The rhythmic motion shakes his thigh, bumping her as she clutches and leans against it.  
  
“Let me know when you’re close, Damar. I don’t want you finishing before me.”  
  
Damar gasps a broken reply, panting as forcefully as he thrusts. “Yes sir…it won’t… _uhhhhhh…_ take long… _ahhhh…FUCK,_ this is incredible sir, the best… _ohhhhhh_ sir… _thank you sir…_ ”  
  
The subsequent events occur in a slippery blur. It begins as the Prefect barks, “Get out of her!” while yanking Gita’s hair to twist her away from Damar’s body and towards his own. It continues as he frantically hauls her head to his groin, where his treasure slides into her freshly vacated mouth with urgency. It slams home not a moment too soon – his juice begins releasing over her tongue even as he locks himself into place, twitching.  
  
Strangely, he strains forward stiffly while she drinks him, rather than melting into his usual groaning puddledness. He grumbles overhead. “Dammit, not in her _hair_ …did I _say_ you could do that?”  
  
She’s curious but lets him finish, courteously licking away any lingering drops she tastes, before sitting up to see what happened.   
  
“Look what he almost poured into your beautiful curls, my dear. I had to catch it for him.”  
  
He shows her his palm. Her eyes widen. He holds a lake of _cream,_ not juice. Oh, no wonder Damar’s so enormously burdened.  
  
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Damar – Gita _never_ leaves a mess. How very interesting that you would say _‘Bajorans could use a lesson in respect’_ , when evidently _you’re_ the one who needs teaching.”  
  
“But sir, I – “  
  
“Stop talking and get on your knees. You’ll _clean_ me with that mouth, instead of making excuses.”   
  
Gita watches Damar comply, pressing his pillowy lips to the Prefect’s hand in a manner indistinguishable from kissing. He licks and sucks with respectful reserve until the cream is gone.  
  
A surprising upsurge of rage overwhelms her as the Prefect sighs his approval. He should be _hers_ to kiss, shouldn’t he? Without premeditation she seizes his face and crushes her lips to his, only breaking off when she perceives his tongue muscling into her mouth.   
  
_“Gita!”_ he spurts, eyes gleaming.  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
